Page 27

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

IRENE

T he carriages slowed to a stop. Irene pushed the door open and jumped out. The others followed quickly. Ahead, Lan and Javier stood near the lead carriage. They had arrived at the royal palace, the entrance where every guest’s carriage came to a halt. Nobles gathered along the path, draped in shimmering garments. They wore outrageous, shimmering garments adorned with jewels and feathers. Irene turned in place, her mouth slightly open, her gaze sweeping over the scene, wide with awe. “Stay close,” Irene said as she moved to join the group by the carriages. She cast a glance toward Hezra, who stood gleaming with excitement. “Lan, drop off the little gifts we talked about along the palace walls. Be careful,” she ordered in a low voice.

Lan nodded and vanished into the shadows.

She had made sure to prepare something, just in case. If things went wrong and they needed to escape fast, they’d have a way out. Jessalyn didn’t know about it. Irene preferred it that way. Meanwhile, Hezra’s voice rang out, brisk and commanding. “Come on! Hurry up!” she urged, motioning for the group to follow. Taking the lead, she moved with light, swift steps, as though walking into a dream she knew by heart. Irene fell in beside her.

The path ahead gleamed like polished gold, flanked by lush gardens with vibrant, unnatural flowers and elegant fountains gurgling with shimmering colored water. Performers lined both sides of the path, pounding great ceremonial drums in perfect rhythm while fire-breathers lit up the night with torrents of flame. Irene and the others couldn’t hide their astonishment; everything shimmered, gleamed, or burned with unnatural beauty.

Hezra smiled wide, brimming with excitement. “Heads high, smiles wide! We are the entertainment!” she declared, her voice ringing out like a command without bothering to turn around.

As they reached the top of the staircase, Hezra paused dramatically. Turning slightly, she looked over her shoulder, her voice dropping to something softer. “Take it all in, darlings. Nights like this are rare... extraordinary. A once-in-a-lifetime spectacle,” she said with a sigh, her tone laced with emotion. Then, without missing a beat, she added sharply, “And remember, no violence. I have a reputation to maintain.” Her eyes flicked toward Irene with deliberate intent. “Yes, I’m talking to you , Irene.”

Irene raised a brow but didn’t respond. Hezra, unbothered, spread her arms wide, as though presenting an entire world to them. “Welcome to the Hive…” she sighed. And with that, they swept inside.

Irene followed, taking one last glance upward toward the grand balcony above. Her gaze snagged on someone. Golden hair shimmered beneath the chandeliers. A young man with a face as flawless as porcelain leaned forward, his features lit by flickering light. His eyes met hers, wide with curiosity, perhaps even a trace of admiration. His lips parted slightly, as though to speak, but no sound came. The moment hung, frozen, until a beam of light struck his eyes, making him blink.

Irene seized the opportunity, breaking the connection. She slipped through the entrance after her crew, disappearing into the grandeur of the palace.

As Irene stepped inside, she was assaulted by a whirlwind of sensory chaos. Colors, sounds, and scents collided into a feverish excess. Jugglers spun flaming torches, dancers clad in shimmering silks twirled to the beat of lively drums, and some servants were grotesquely disguised as living platters—standing motionless as intoxicated guests plucked delicacies directly from their bodies. Laughter echoed through the air, mingling with the metallic clinking of overflowing wine goblets.

Irene turned on her heel, mouth open. Every corner of the space dazzled her senses, from fountains spewing crimson wine to groups of half-drunken nobles smearing crushed fruits and sauces across their faces, leaving behind colorful stains on the marble floors.

Hezra led the way, gliding effortlessly through the chaos, her smile wide and unwavering. The nobles recognized and welcomed with applause.

Curious stares followed them everywhere. Fingers pointed, whispers fluttered, and Irene could feel the weight of judgment pressing down on them. They were not like these people—not part of this world. To the nobles, they were strange, exotic, something to gawk at, as though they were creatures plucked from another reality and paraded for amusement.

With every step, Irene faced new distractions. Guests lunged forward, offering her goblets brimming with colorful, suspiciously sweet-smelling drinks. A woman with a painted white face and lips glistening in gold trailed her fingers lightly across Irene’s neck, sending an uncomfortable shiver racing down her spine. Others reached out, trying to touch her hair. "Eyes forward, keep walking," Irene muttered under her breath. Hezra suddenly halted, turning sharply on her heel with an air of command. “Our place is not here,” she said firmly. "Where we belong is quieter… and more refined.”

Hezra led them toward a hallway on the far side of the room. Irene quickened her pace to keep up, unwilling to lose sight of the crew.

The moment they entered the hallway, the atmosphere shifted. The overwhelming noise of the main hall faded into a distant hum, and the air became cooler. Irene let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

The group descended a wide staircase and pushed through a set of ornate double doors into a vast chamber. Irene’s eyes widened. This space was nothing like the chaotic opulence of the main hall.

The room exuded an elegance that was almost serene. The scent of jasmine lingered, calming her senses. Hundreds of flowers, mostly white roses lined the walls and hung from the ceiling. Painters in every corner of the room, captured the faces of each guest.

She approached Hezra, who was now standing with Blade, opening a large sack filled with their equipment. Taking a moment to observe the scene, Irene noted the difference in the crowd here. The people were more composed, their movements graceful, their conversations quieter, though no less extravagant.

Along one side of the room, a group of musicians played a gentle yet rhythmic tune, filling the air with a soothing melody.

A lavish banquet stretched before them, displaying an array of delicacies in pastel hues, soft pinks, pale yellows, delicate blues. None of the dishes were familiar to Irene, yet each one looked meticulously crafted. Her stomach growled.

Just as she drew nearer, she caught sight of Javier holding a strange-looking pastry shaped like a flower, about to take a bite. Before he could sink his teeth into it, Irene snatched it from his hands and tossed it aside.

“Are you insane?!” Javier growled, his voice filled with irritation. “Can’t I at least enjoy the food?”

“Absolutely not. I don’t trust any of it,” Irene retorted.

Hezra snickered, her voice laced with mockery. “Since when do you care about anyone but yourself?”

“I care about my crew,” Irene shot back coldly. “And until I decide I no longer need you, I’ll make sure you stay alive.” Her tone was as sharp.

Hezra clicked her tongue in irritation, casting a wary glance over her shoulder before flashing a strained smile, as though masking their tension for the benefit of onlookers. She raised a hand to her hair, pretending to adjust it while whispering through gritted teeth: “Keep your voices down. Here, I’m Hezra, the gracious doll. Even the king knows me.” She forced a broader smile.

Javier, Zahra, go now. The dance hasn’t started yet, and the guards are distracted. We’ll cover you—run, or you won’t slip out unnoticed," said Hezra in a low, urgent voice.

Javier gave a quick nod. "Grab the maps, and let’s get the hell out of here," murmured Blade.

Javier and Zahra slipped away quietly. Irene should have left with them, probably, but first, she needed to be sure things will be good with Blade and Hezra.

She turned to Hezra, who had changed clothes in record time. Beneath her long gown, she now wore a shorter, lighter dress, perfect for movement.

"There’s going to be a dance. Couples will pair off, and most of the guests and guards will stay here, distracted by the performance. That’s your moment to get the key," Hezra explained, her tone sharp and focused.

"Yes," Irene said, nodding firmly.

"Think you can handle things alone?" Irene asked Blade as he unsheathed his twin daggers.

"Yeah… don’t worry. It’s not our first performance together," he replied with a wink, tilting his head toward Hezra, who was already whispering something to a nearby musician. The man nodded, lifted his instrument, and began playing a new melody.

"I'll see you soon," Irene said, stepping back.

As she retreated, the entire orchestra struck up a bewitching, rhythmic melody. Hezra began to dance, graceful, fluid. She spun elegantly, her feet pointed, while Blade flung daggers in her direction. Each blade sliced the air dangerously close to her, but never touched her. She kept her eyes closed, trusting him completely. The crowd held its breath with every throw, breaking into applause at every near-miss.

Meanwhile, Irene slipped out of the ballroom, moving swiftly down the corridor. She didn’t get far. A guard appeared, blocking her path.

"Stop right there," he barked.

Irene tried to brush past him, keeping her head down, but he stepped in her way again.

"Servants, including the circus troupe, aren’t allowed to wander freely," he said, his tone cold."

"I just got lost, I—" Irene began, attempting to move around him.

She didn’t get to finish. The guard slapped her hard across the face, the cold steel of his armored glove cutting her lip. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.

"Back off, you worthless scum, or we’ll throw you in a cell. The ballroom is that way. Do your job, woman," he sneered with disdain.

Irene stood frozen, eyes wide with shock. She was no stranger to violence, no stranger to harsh words and insults. But that look… that look of utter contempt, like she was beneath him, like she wasn’t even human, cut deeper than the slap.

Her hands trembled. Despite herself, tears of pure rage welled in her eyes. Two choices presented themselves.

She could silence the creature inside her—the one that howled for blood, that begged her to make this bastard pay for hitting her. But if she did, she’d ruin everything. The entire plan would be blown.

Or, she could bite down her pride, hold back her fury, and return to Hezra. Hezra would help her find a way out of this cursed ballroom. Quietly. Discreetly. Without blowing their cover.

Her fists clenched so hard her knuckles turned white.

She closed her eyes. Breathed in. Imagined herself driving a sword straight through his throat. Exhaled. She opened her eyes. The guard was still glaring at her with disgust.

“I’m watching you!” he barked, leaning in close to her face as if to intimidate her. Irene stumbled back, heart pounding too fast, panic rising in her chest. She backed toward the ballroom, her movements stiff and uncertain. Behind her, she noticed the guard turning to another, whispering something in his ear.

Her pulse spiked. Had she already blown their cover by drawing too much attention?

Spinning on her heels, she hurried back toward the ballroom, biting down hard on the pain in her split lip. The metallic taste of blood only fueled the humiliation surging through her veins. The whole thing left a bitter aftertaste of memories she wished she could forget of cold-hearted jailers who had once tormented her with words, blows, and sneers.

Her lips quivered. Her hands trembled. A burning rage simmered beneath her skin, but fear crawled up her spine. She could hear footsteps behind her, growing louder. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the guard pointing at her, another one joining him.

“Shit,” she hissed under her breath, quickening her pace, barely watching where she was going. Her breath came faster, more ragged. They were closing in. They were going to arrest her.

She clenched her eyes shut, bracing for the disaster about to unfold.

Just a few more steps. The ballroom was so close. But the guards were closing in, barking orders, arms outstretched to seize her. Before they could, she felt a rough hand clamp down on her arm, yanking her back inside. Panic exploded in her chest as she was dragged violently into the ballroom, colliding with something solid.

A muscled chest. Hard as stone. Strong hands had pulled her from their grasp.

Her heart pounded faster, her entire body going rigid. She would recognize that grip, that presence, that intoxicating scent anywhere. Only one person could ignite her body like that: Dax.

Irene opened her eyes, heart still hammering in her chest. In front of her, couples twirled across the ballroom floor. Dax leaned in, his hot breath brushing her ear. “You owe me an explanation, little siren,” he whispered, his voice low and taunting.

A shiver raced down her spine. Before she could react, Dax turned her to face him. His eyes darkened instantly at the sight of her split lip, his brow furrowing deeply. “Who did this to you?” he asked, his voice barely more than a breath, his gaze fixed on her bloodied mouth. Irene ignored his question, glancing over her shoulder. The guards who had been chasing her moments ago hesitated when they saw Dax.

He had saved her, but she couldn’t bring herself to feel grateful. Dax’s fingers gripped her chin, pulling her focus back to him. A passing couple bumped into them, making her stumble forward, closer to Dax, her hand landing on his tensed shoulder. Without thinking, he wiped the blood from her lip with his thumb. Irene froze, holding her breath.

He stared at her lip, his thumb lingering for a moment too long. His gaze darkened, and he whispered to himself, "You’ve always looked so good covered in blood..." His words sent a shiver through her, unsettling and confusing. "Tell me," he repeated, voice commanding. "Which one of them hurt you?" Irene shot him a dark glare. He was infuriating, as if he hadn’t already done far worse to her. "Why do you care?" she hissed. "You’ve hurt me far worse than this."

Dax blinked, momentarily thrown by the bitterness in her voice. Her sharp words dragged him back to reality, cutting through the haze of obsession clouding his mind. Shit, Irene thought, instantly regretting her outburst. Jessalyn had warned her to avoid Dax at all costs. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Hezra and Blade at the far end of the ballroom, both watching her closely, their eyes filled with silent questions. Forcing a strained smile, she tried to appear composed, though she felt anything but. Everything was unraveling, and fast. It only got worse when she tried to pull back, and Dax’s hand clamped around her wrist, yanking her toward the dance floor. "Are you out of your mind? Let go of me!" she snapped, digging her heels into the floor, struggling against his grip.

"We’re going to dance, darling," Dax growled low in her ear, dragging her into the center of the ballroom. His voice was calm, but laced with menace. "And while we do, you’re going to learn some manners and answer my questions."

Before she could protest further, he spun her around and forced her into a dance position. One hand pressed firmly against her back, the other gripping hers tightly. He locked her in place, the bastard. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded, his grip tightening painfully around her hand. “Did you really think I was joking when I told you to stay away?” They moved, or rather stumbled, across the floor in something resembling a dance, but it was chaotic.

Around them, the other couples twirled elegantly. But Irene and Dax had created their own violent, disjointed rhythm, a battle disguised as a dance. Out of spite, Irene stomped on his foot, hard enough to make him wince. “I already told you,” she said coldly. "We formed a circus troupe. Did you betray me just so you could disguise yourself and dance with nobles? Pathetic." She sneered, her words cutting deep. Dax’s jaw clenched, her insult striking a nerve. His grip tightened further as he hissed through gritted teeth. He didn’t slow down. Instead, he picked up the pace, forcing her to move faster as he backed her toward the edge of the ballroom. The other dancers glanced their way. Sensing the tension, the musicians shifted to a faster, fiery melody. “You’re reckless. Stubborn. Impulsive. You have no idea what kind of mess you’re stepping into,” Dax growled. “And you’re a traitor,” Irene shot back, her eyes blazing with fury. “No matter what costume you wear, you’ll always be a backstabbing bastard. You tried to kill me, twice.” Dax’s eyes narrowed, and without warning, he slammed her back against the wall. She gasped at the impact. Leaning in close, Dax whispered, his voice filled with restrained anger, “And you tried to stab me. Twice. It hurts, you know?” Irene glared at him, every nerve in her body screaming for her to fight back. But she couldn’t. “Good, it was my intention,” she muttered through clenched teeth. Dax’s lips curled into a smirk, but there was no humor in it, only anger. Around them, the dance continued, the music growing louder.

“Do you know why I sent you to the edge of the world?” Dax whispered, his face dangerously close to hers. “Because you’re cursed,” he spat. Fury coiled through Irene’s body. She tried to strike him, but he caught her wrist and pinned it to the wall beside her head.

Fury coiled through Irene’s body. She tried to strike him, but he caught her wrist and pinned it to the wall beside her head. “Your emotions make you weak,” he hissed. "While the rest of us live in the real world, you’re trapped in your head. Lorax would never have chosen you. He would’ve used just like Jessalyn is now.”

Irene knew how much Dax and his father had always, for some reason, despised Jessalyn. “Shut up,” Irene snapped. She lashed out with her knee, aiming between his legs, but Dax was faster. He caught her leg and yanked it around his waist, his grip on her bare thigh bruising. “You’re cursed, Irene, and I won’t let you ruin my destiny. Whatever you came here to do, forget it,” he growled, his breath hot against her skin. Tears stung her eyes, sharp and blinding. Her heart twisted with pain, but she pushed through it. She freed her other hand, pulled the knife strapped to her thigh, and pressed the blade to his throat.

“I’ll kill you,” she whispered, tears finally spilling down her cheeks. His words had cut her too deeply. She pressed the blade harder against his throat. Dax released her arm but slid his hand around her waist, gripping her just as tightly. Across the ballroom, the crowd erupted in applause, the dance was almost over. He pulled her flush against him, forcing his hips between her legs, his breath mingling with hers in the charged space between them. He pulled her against him, forcing his hips between her legs, his breath mingling with hers. Irene’s stomach tightened,

Slowly, she dragged the knife along his throat, the blade biting deeper. Blood welled and spilled down his neck in a glistening line. Dax hissed through clenched teeth, his head dropping forward as pain lanced through him. Yet he didn’t pull back. Instead, he pressed his forehead to hers, his breath sharp and ragged. His fingers dug into her bare thigh, hard enough to bruise.

"Curse me, I've missed your violence, little siren," he moaned, his voice rough with something twisted. Almost like he enjoyed the pain. Pirate men of the guilds had raging storms in their veins, and though they scoffed at any notion of love, they fiercely ravished their partners. And so, the bastard bit her. His teeth sank into the curve of her neck, leaving a vivid red mark. Irene arched, pain flaring where he’d marked her, her hand flying to his shoulder. But before she could react, he pulled away, letting the cold rush in where heat had burned moments ago.

“Give up,” he said, his voice eerily calm, as if everything about this confrontation amused him. Irene, breathless and seething, didn’t hesitate. “I’ll take everything you care about,” she said. Dax stepped back, his smirk fading into something colder, something more lethal. “Very well,” he said, his tone like steel. “Let it be war, then.” And with that, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving her standing alone, her heart pounding.

The entire hall burst into applause. The dance was over, and guards moved in and out, escorting guests as they came and went. Irene shoved her way through the crowd, blending into the sea of people, tears still running down her cheeks. She wiped them away in frustration.

Across the room, she caught Blade’s eye. He gave her a sharp signal—hurry. She clenched her fists and forced herself to focus. Dax was undoubtedly furious now, and worse, suspicious.

There was no more time. If she didn’t act now, it would be too late.